


One of these Days

by Voido



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Family, First Meetings, Fluff, Growing Up Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends, first snow, klancemas, not for raisin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voido/pseuds/Voido
Summary: Keith likes to see himself and his life as simple.Then Lance happens.---For #Klancemas2018!





	1. First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! :)  
> I'm not yet sure how many of these I will manage to do, but I hope some of you will enjoy them. :)  
> You can find the whole list of prompts over on [tumblr](https://monthlyklance.tumblr.com/post/180422837306/klancemas-2018-prompts-reblog-if-using-tag-me) if you want. :)

It's not the first winter he's ever witnessed, but there is _something_ new about the snowy Christmas Eve Keith experiences when he's only five years old. It's not even so much the cold white powder to his feet that piques his interest; no, he's mesmerized by something entirely different -- a pair of wide, ocean blue eyes staring right at him, a shimmer in them he can't seem to identify. They're accompanied by a grin that reaches from ear to ear, and only when he looks down does Keith notice that the other boy is handing him something.

"You dropped this," he says with an audible accent to his voice. It's a red beanie, and while Keith is busy reaching up to check his head to make sure that the boy isn't lying, his mother is already kneeling next to them.

"Thank you, young man. That's very nice of you."

She takes the beanie instead of him and puts it back on his head tightly, gently placing it on top of wild streaks of thick, black hair, and keeps looking at him until he locks eyes with the boy again to thank him as well.

"Th-thanks," Keith mutters, a little embarrassed because he doesn't want to say it, but knows that his mother will insist. He's never liked talking to the other kids around town much, and this boy is entirely foreign to him. Why would he go out of his way to pick up someone else's stuff and hand it back? Keith is confused, but before he can say another word, the other boy's father approaches and picks him up, his smile equally wide as his son's.

"I hope you're not bothering these people, son. It's time to go home."

"No, he was so nice as to return something we had dropped," Keith hears his mother explain and squints a little. He does appreciate it, too, because it's his favorite beanie, and he doesn't even understand how he could not have noticed it falling off his head, but he still wants to go home, because it's cold and he's bored of playing.

He watches the boy fight to be let down again, and keeps staring when his wish is finally granted. Eyes still shining bright, grin still spread over his face, the boy reaches out again, this time empty-handed. Keith doesn't understand it, and he refuses to move in any way. The smile falters, but the boy doesn't give up and instead forcefully reaches for Keith's hand to shake it either way.

"I'm Lance!"

And he sounds so happy and cheerful about that fact, about introducing himself to someone new, and it's so irrational and absurd to Keith, that he can't help but allow the faintest of smiles to reach his lips when he, still skeptical about this kid he's never met before, nods and says:

"Keith."

A single snow flake lands on Lance's nose as his grin returns, and maybe it's the first one Keith has ever truly noticed.


	2. Hot Cocoa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun writing these!  
> Can't promise that I'll manage to do all of them, but so far the first four are done and I'm very optimistic about this. <3

If you asked him, Keith would insist that he's neither incredibly forgetful nor over-the-tops considerate of things. He'll think of the past when he deems it necessary, and there's quite a lot of memories stored inside his mind that he  _ could _ recall and act upon, but usually, he simply wouldn't know for  _ what _ .

Why bother recalling the name of a book he didn't even finish because it was boring? Why give his new classmate the hope that they could become friends by saying  _ "yes, I do remember your name" _ ? Truth or not, he doesn't  _ want _ any strangers to try and befriend him.

To him, there's just so many things worth being forgotten. All the times he's gotten in trouble at his old school; the countless sad, disappointed looks his parents have given him.

He hates memories. He wants nothing to do with them. Besides, he's ten already, and that's a fair age to finally grow up and stop living in the past, he finds.

"Is he sleeping?"

Blinking rapidly, he tries to get out of his head. He's currently in line to get some hot chocolate with the money his mom gave him after he refused to let her buy it for him—again, he's ten; he's got this. It won't make the school festival any less boring, but it will satisfy his sweet tooth for a while.

"Totally looks like he is. Weirdo."

He knows the voices are talking about him, and he knows he shouldn't get mad about it. Whenever he lets his thoughts wander, that happens—another reason he prefers to forget; getting caught up in the past makes him feel open and vulnerable. He wants nothing to do with it. He also doesn't want to get angry, but the boy staring at him while telling petty remarks to his friend makes Keith feel like he's  _ boiling _ with rage. His hands clench to fists before he even notices it, sharp teeth biting into his lower lip, his eyes watering at how furious it makes him.

The thing is, Keith knows.

He knows that people will continue to refuse sitting next to him. He knows that no one will befriend him, the weird kid who spends his free time writing stories in his diary. He knows that he's going to be alone, like he used to be alone for all he can remember.

He knows, because that's what he wants.

Being on his own means no one can leave him. Being on his own means he won't have to worry about being rejected. Being on his own should mean that no one can hurt him, and yet, people manage. They talk behind his back without him ever doing a thing to deserve their pettiness. They treat him like an alien, back away when he so much as squints at them, but then continue to laugh.

He hates to admit it, but he's sick of it.

All he wants is peace and quiet, yet all he gets are insults and bullying. His eyes wander to his trembling fists, and he thinks about his parents—his father telling him that he's proud, his mother smiling at him the way she always does, telling him that he's okay the way he is.

He doesn't  _ want _ to disappoint them, but if these kids ask for it, he will.

When Keith looks up, though, he doesn't see the rude kid from before anymore—instead, he loses himself, his burning anger, the fire in his soul turning into something softer; he's greeted not by a cruel smile, but a cheerful grin. The eyes focusing on him aren't sly, but beaming.

He blinks once, twice, and looks down to the hand thats extended towards his body. It's covered in bright blue, hand-knit gloves, and it's currently handing him a mug with a steaming drink in it.

"Do you want one? Was gonna give it to my friend, but you look sad, so it's okay. Lady said it's the last they have at the moment, too."

A familiar feeling floods Keith, like a soft breeze playing around his mind with gentle force. He remembers it all:

The hand reaching out for him.

The wide smile that shines like the sun.

The deep blue eyes that glimmer like moonlight clashing with small ocean waves.

He nods on instinct. He takes the cup on instinct. He smiles on instict.

"I'm Lance, by the way," the boy says eventually, happiness never fading.

_ I know _ , Keith thinks, unable to say it out loud, unable to answer in any kind of way. He hasn't seen the boy in front of him for years, and yet it feels as if it was yesterday.

Keith hates memories.

Just this one, though, he appreciates.


	3. Ice Skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Lance being great at sports like dancing or swimming, but not being able to ice skate even if his life depended on it. :')

Out of all the things someone could be good at, Keith figures that his skill are sports. Doesn't matter if it's a specific one he likes or one that he's forced to do—-more often than not, he's top of the class after two lessons worth of learning. Whenever his friends ask him to take part in one of their increasingly dangerous outdoor activities—-and actually manage to get him to join in—-it's not long before they sigh in defeat and call him  _ a monster among measly humans _ .

They don't mean ill by it, so it really doesn't bother him. All of them are friends he would consider close, because that's the only friends he's interested in, and they aren't exactly plenty. To Keith, though, that's the best part. He likes being with the few people that matter, rather than dozens that he couldn't care less about. Sometimes, they manage to convince him to meet someone new, but most of the time these meetings lead to nothing. That's fine, though; he's learned to value one-time experiences, too.

"You're not being fair, Keith," he hears a voice and hardly manages to chuckle before someone tackles him—-the force barely manages to startle him, but it sends them both gliding over the ice.

"Be glad for it, gremlin. With anyone else, you'd be kissing the floor now," Keith replies snarkily and picks his friend up with ease to make it less difficult to get his balance back. She's approximately as light as a feather, so it's not saying much, but he still knows that people are staring at them in awe at how seemingly easy this is to them.

They eventually come to a halt and he sets her back down, both of them laughing. It's not the kind of activity either of them are known to enjoy—-too many people around being the biggest reason for that. But together, they still have fun doing it.

"You really are good at every sport in the world, aren't you?"

"Says the genius, Pidge."

She chuckles.

"Fair point. Still not f—-oh shit, watch out!"

Horror masks her face and she almost trips while trying to back away while pointing at  _ something _ behind him. He hardly has the time to turn around, because that's not exactly easy while standing on a block of ice in shoes with blades underneath them.

There's a squeaky scream coming from the person speeding in his direction, sheer panic spread on their face as they try to brake, without any reasonable success. Keith isn't naive. Even though he hardly has half a second to think about it, it's enough for him to analyze and understand that this guy is going to collide with him no matter what. So instead of trying to dodge, Keith does what feels most natural—-he reaches out, adamant on catching the terrified boy and keeping them both on their feet.

Keith does catch him.

He does not keep them on their feet.

Apparently, he underestimated the force with which the other boy rushed into him, and they both slide a good few meters before stumbling and falling, nails aggressively digging into each other's hands. Luckily for them, the place is almost empty today, so no one accidentally runs them over. Keith sighs, lets go and draws himself up with little effort before turning to help the other guy up.

His heart skips a beat.

"Thanks, man," the boy says and reaches for Keith's hand, raising an eyebrow when there's no indication that he's  _ actually _ being pulled up.

"Hello? Earth to mulletboy, do you copy? Shit, did you hurt your head?"

Shaking his head, Keith blinks and finally pulls the boy up, keeping him steady by the shoulder with his other hand to make sure he doesn't fall right back down on his ass.

God, does Keith hate memories.

Heaven, does he love this one.

"Hey, Lance," he says with a level of confidence he never thought himself capable of, and even manages to bring a tiny smirk to his lips when his words are met with a shocked, confused expression.

"How the hell do you know my name?"

He's almost a little hurt by it, but figures it's fair since, again, they haven't seen each other in years. Why would anyone remember him after their two tiny little encounters which were both so far in the past?

He chuckles at the irony of it, the irony of himself being the one to remember when the other person doesn't. It's quite refreshing, for a change.

"Nice landing, Lance," comes from a voice near them, which is awarded with Lance himself sticking out his tongue towards his approaching friend. It's the perfect moment to let go, leave and forget, Keith figures, but instead, he finds himself staring, just the same way he's done twice before, all this time ago.

Lance's eyes have lost nothing of their beauty, still shining brighter than the stars ever could, filled with the eager force of a coursing river.

Keith doesn't know how he could ever  _ not _ lose himself in them. He can't even bring himself to cast a look towards Lance's friend, although he knows it would only be polite.

"You two know each other?" the voice continues, and they both answer in unison.

"Not at all!" Lance insists loudly.

"Yes," Keith replies calmly, and feels a weird sense of pride bubble up inside him when it causes Lance to turn back to him and raise an eyebrow questioningly. Until now, Keith has been mesmerized by the liveliness of Lance's eyes and smile, but with the skeptical look in his direction, he finally realizes what about it keeps him so invested.

Lance  _ wears _ his emotions. His one eyebrow seems to reach for the sky while the other presses tightly towards his eye. His nasal wings are slightly blown, his lips the tiniest bit parted, the corners pulled down disapprovingly. Everything he feels seems to be written down on him as if he's a living canvas, allowing Keith's every word to create whatever painting he's yearning to see.

"What now?"

He finally turns to look at the other boy who's come to a halt next to them. He's a taller than both of them, and broader. The smile he's wearing is the kindest Keith recalls ever seeing, and the force with which the guy pulls Lance into a bone-crushing hug is almost a little worrying.

"Did he hit his head?"

It takes a moment before Keith realizes that the words are directed  _ at _ him, not  _ about _ him.

"I don't think so. We've only met briefly before."

"I literally don't know who this dude is, Hunk, I swear. You think he's a stalker or something?" Lance asks loudly, but he sounds more sheepish than serious. Judging from the faint blush on his cheeks, he's embarrassed that he's apparently forgotten someone he shouldn’t have.

“You done there, emoboy? Who am I going to tackle if you hide near strangers I don't want to involve?!"

He turns and sees Pidge grinning at him, tries to indicate that he'll be there in a moment with a small gesture, and turns back around. Lance's eyes are still resting on him and he's visibly wrecking his brain trying to come up with  _ something _ . Keith can't help but indulge in that, but decides to give him another, fairer chance to recall when and how they met.

"You heard it, my friend needs me," he starts almost dramatically, one foot already moving to turn him around on the ice swiftly. "I never  _ properly _ thanked you for the hot chocolate all those years ago. Or for returning my beanie. So, thanks. I'm Keith, by the way."

With that, he's on his way, and somehow, it's as if he can feel how things start making sense in Lance's brain. Maybe not fully, but it's getting there.

"Wait—Keith!"

"Lance, what the hell are you doing?!"

This time, Keith turns around just in time and puts enough force into holding Lance back, keeping him from knocking them both over a second time. There are countless levels of confusion piling up in those perfectly blue eyes, all waiting to be cleared over time.

Keith doesn't believe in fate, but he's even less convinced that there's unlimited amounts of coincidences. It's been so long since they last met, and even longer since they  _ first _ met, yet when he allows himself to hold onto the hands clinging to his in panic just a little while longer, it feels like an entirely new beginning.

"I remember you now..." Lance explains, sounding a little nervous.

"I'm glad," Keith answers, and for once, he wholeheartedly means it.


	4. Gingerbread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing to saaaay except Matt is kinda me, ngl. Memes are life.

Over the years, Keith has gotten used to his phone being blown up at the weirdest times. He still doesn't have an outstanding amount of friends, but he definitely has a few chatty ones. There's Matt, brother to Keith's best friend Pidge. Sometimes, it seems like the siblings are the same person—-when they chat, it's the exact opposite. Pidge usually sends a few long messages that say everything, unless she's extremely excited or annoyed. Matt, on the other hand, is a memelord in the truest sense of the word, constantly spamming random pictures, emojis, and basically entertaining whoever he's talking to, all on his own.

Usually, that _ whoever _ is the group chat they're in.

So in short, Keith thinks he's decently grown to accept the fact that sometimes, his phone lights up to show him that he's received forty-seven messages over the course of fewer than thirty seconds, two thirds of those being questionable pictures from Matt that no human being should be forced to ever lay eyes upon.

He'll admit, though, that he's still a lot less used to the overly dramatic way it's being done by his newest friend, who is currently busy explaining to him something about  _ the ups and downs of being best friends with an excellent cook _ , as he calls it. While Keith does reply occasionally, he's a little overwhelmed by the stream of messages coming in and the emotions tied to them that switch in a matter of seconds.

For the record: He hasn't even  _ seen _ Lance ever since the ice-skating incident.

Keith likes to think that this fact is the only reason why he's so confused -- being flooded with messages by people he's close to is old news, but staring down at his screen, he finds himself just slightly alienated by what he's facing. Truth be told, all he's known about Lance until now was that he's pretty and open-minded about getting to know new people. His almost aggressively cheerful character undoubtedly fits him, but it's still...new.

As much as he dislikes admitting it, Keith finds himself at a loss on how to deal with it. It's not like he's annoyed—he's good at ignoring people when he truly feels the need to, and that's definitely not the case yet—but he does find it increasingly hard to even attempt to reply.

Then, all out of sudden, between theatrical descriptions of how terribly the cold has been treating his skin, Lance sends a message that, in relation to all he's said before, sounds so serious that it makes Keith chuckle.

_ Do you like gingerbread? _

It's so random, and he thinks he can imagine how Lance's face has turned from cheerful to serious while typing those words. It's a quite fascinating thing about him, how he can jump from one emotion to the next within a second.

Keith wishes he could see it, but doesn't dare type those words down.

_ Depends. _

He keeps the answer as short as possible on purpose, smiling when the "online" notifier turns into “typing...".

From all that he's learned about Lance in the few weeks they've been texting—and Keith has to admit that it's been more than anyone has ever learned about himself in several  _ years _ —he expects the reply to take a while and to consist of shocked, downright outraged floods of text in capslock, so he sets his phone to the side and works on his notes for school, yet can't help but repeat the question in his mind.

Maybe it's because he himself tends to be more straight-forward when there's something he wants to know. Or he could blame the fact that he can't come up with a logical reason why Lance would care if he likes gingerbread or not.

To his own surprise, Keith isn't given much time to come up with an answer to his questions, because the sound of his ringtone going off almost has him jump from the bed in shock. No one calls him, ever, unless it's incredibly necessary. Who would— 

_ Of course. _

He frowns, squints and turns the phone in his hands, a little puzzled if he should pick up. Is there really a reason to call him over this? Was his reply in any way socially unacceptable? He wouldn't know since he'll shamelessly admit his social abilities to be ridiculously weak.

Deciding it's not worth wrecking his brain over it, he rolls his eyes, takes a deep breath that he can’t explain the need for, and taps on the green button before raising the phone to his ear.

Needless to say, he doesn't get the chance to even say his name.

"I will have you know that I fell from my bed in utter shock because of what you just said to me," Lance starts with a high-pitched, unbelieving voice, as if he's facing nothing but pure treachery here. Keith thinks he should mind it at least a little more, but he can't bring himself to do anything but smile. Lance's voice is enough to imagine his mimics going absolutely wild while he speaks, his free hand gesturing around wildly, excitement radiating from his eyes as if it were their job.

In fact, Keith is so taken away by the mental image, that he doesn't even realize he's supposed to say something.

"You there, Keith?"

Lance's voice is still on fire, but he does sound at least a little concerned as well. After a few more seconds of leaving him hanging, Keith clears his throat and finally replies.

"Hopefully, you didn't hurt yourself in the process."

He rolls his eyes because that's not what he wanted to say. Lance might be a little exhausting at times, and way too energetic and a little naive, judging from all his messages, but Keith still allows himself to doubt that he'd be naive enough to casually call a friend after seriously injuring himself.

"And, sorry?" he continues, a little unsure of what he's supposed to say. "Haven't ever been much of a Christmas person, so I couldn't tell you."

"No, nonono, Keith, this is slander, this is unbelievable. The love for gingerbread is entirely unrelated to Christmas."

Part of him wants to argue that no, it absolutely isn’t? Although he's not particularly interested in the celebration itself, he considers himself versed enough to at least be sure of that. Besides, it's hard to miss the fact that gingerbread is only sold in stores during the last months of the year.

"Do I want to argue with you on this?" Keith asks in an amused tone, and he's sure he knows the answer already, but it's still given to him verbally.

"You don't. What you do want to do, though, is hit the town with me and understand the importance of gingerbread and its effects on your everyday life, and how it makes winter at least six times more bearable, and..."

If asked, he would claim that he's letting Lance go on with his rambling out of generosity, but in reality, that's a lie.  _ Hit the town with me. _ He can't say why those words take him by surprise and why they keep repeating themselves in his mind, but what he does know is that he didn't expect them at all. For some reason, Keith hasn't imagined their relationship to ever go deeper than meeting coincidentally and maybe texting in their free time.

Is there a reason for him to actually be friends with Lance? And, even more importantly: Does he really need one? Does he  _ want _ to need one? The friends he's had for the last years are people he's exclusively gotten to known by force -- be it in school, through family or under any kind of other convenient circumstances that allowed it to make sense to at least become something on the level of acquaintances.

Lance, though, is a random boy he's happened to run into more than once, more than twice, and while that is obviously not a reason  _ not _ to become friends with him, Keith still can't help but wonder.

Is there anything he can even offer as a friend? He isn't outgoing, he isn't necessarily talented in anything other than sports, not very interested in anything but aviation and literature, and most definitely not the cheerful person to buddy around with--

"Keith, I swear, did you never have a phone call or do you let these awkward silences happen with everyone you know?"

"What? Oh, no..."

In fact, he does, but he's not eager on having Lance judge him for it. Instead, he turns it around to make himself seem less like a fool, drops onto the bed and closes his eyes, unable to hide a little embarrassment, and incredibly glad that no one can see it.

"Just not used to anyone kicking out whole novels over the course of minutes. You sure are talkative."

"Someone has to be! So. Gingerbread? You ain't gonna leave me hanging here, right?"

Leave him hanging? What does that even mean? Regardless, Keith nods and legitimately needs a moment to realize that there's no one around to see it. He  _ definitely _ does make the awkward silences happen with everyone who dares to give him phone calls.

"Sure, sounds...good? I'm not exactly the most outgoing person, though."

It's the truth, and it makes him just the slightest bit insecure.

But when Lance keeps rambling about all the things they should do and see, the places in town worth visiting as soon as the first snow has fallen, the millions of ways he's managed to get himself and his friends and family in embarrassing situations...

For a change, only this once, Keith thinks he is actually fine with being torn out of his safe bubble.


	5. Movie Marathon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, today's topic is mostly implied... :D

As it turns out,  _ hitting the town _ and  _ grabbing some gingerbread _ aren't the only things Lance is particularly interested in bonding over. They're barely out of the masses of people lining up for some mulled wine when he's already tugging on Keith's sleeve in unrestrained excitement, and pointing towards the cinema a little too eagerly.

"That, there,  _ Keith _ , do you  _ see _ this?!"

He sees quite a lot, in fact—way too many people, bright decorations, children running in all directions, to name a few things. Being as considerate as he can bring himself to be, though, he takes a moment to scan the area and tries to come up with the answer Lance  _ wants _ to hear. He squints, but when nothing else seems to make sense, Keith turns his head and shrugs before suggesting:

"That trailer for the alien movie over there?"

Lance nods energetically and pulls him along to get closer to the movie theater itself, beaming at the bright flashing pictures that are being projected over half the city or so. Internally, Keith can’t help but cringe—they've only managed to get a small bit closer, but he's already made physical contact with at least eight people, and he's anything but fond of touching strangers in  _ any _ kind of way.

His brain decides to ignore the fact that Lance, who's currently  _ pulling him along, _ would usually fall under the category  _ stranger _ as well, considering the little time they've actively known each other, let alone spent together.  _ That's different _ , Keith argues with himself, even though he wouldn't even be able to explain  _ how _ it's different.

"I'll forgive your insulting, careless words," Lance shouts over the masses they're yet again trying to get through. "But only if you watch it with me."

This time, Keith cringes  _ outwardly _ , fully aware of the disgusted face he's pulling and how his body tenses up. All of this is a little too much for his personal comfort, and he already feels like a killjoy for thinking about declining. Then again, Lance surely has hundreds of other friends to go with, right? All Keith really needs to do is excuse himself and make sure to continuously do so in case Lance keeps insisting on watching anything together.

There's one thing, though, that Keith hasn't been thinking of while coming up with that amazing plan—this one thing being eyes the color of the brightest waters kissing warm coasts on a sunny summer day, effortlessly pulling him in with the force of a powerful wave. Before he knows it, he's nodding wordlessly, only realizing what he's done when Lance's lips curl up to a big, cheerful smile.

_ That alone is worth it _ , Keith decides and closes in a little to get away from all the people around them. It's not comfortable, but it's he’s managing still. As long as he's allowed to keep staring into those eyes that have had him hooked since day one, something tells him he'll be able to overcome anything.

"If you insist," he mutters with genuine affection to his voice, and allows Lance to pull him along, past the countless people blocking their way, past the boundaries holding him back, past the walls that Keith never expected he'd ever even try to climb over.

He's worried, sure, with so many new things happening to him in such a short time, but in a way, this worry is also excitement, maybe even curiosity.

It's scary, but he's ready.

They've barely made their way back outside, Keith still groggy from the darkness of the theater, and slightly stiff from sitting in the same position for hours, when Lance is already back to his former self -- surprisingly, the movie shut him up for a two full hours, with the exception of him screaming whenever anything with even a mediocre shock factor happened on screen.

Now, though, he's full of energy again, and seemingly ready to head right back into the world of countless people running against each other, spilling drinks and laughing too loudly and speaking too much and—

Keith needs a break, and he makes it clear by coming to an abrupt halt, almost causing Lance to fall over from the force of being pulled back a little. He looks surprised, a little disgruntled, but then what seems to be genuine worry mixes into it.

"You okay?"

_ No _ , Keith thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. There's no need to worry about him, but he needs a moment far away from these dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of people walking, running in all directions, making him feel fuzzy in the head. Out of the many reasons, being uncomfortable in crowds is one of the more intense ones that Keith prefers to stay home whenever he can.

"Need a break," he explains calmly, proud that his voice doesn't give away just how exhausted he feels. Lance's smile is  _ already _ faltering as things are—Keith doesn't need him to worry any more than that.

"Damn, I...too much, right? I didn't mean--"

" _ Lance _ . Cut it out. I'm old enough to say when it's too much. Just give me a few?"

Although Lance nods wordlessly, there's no doubt he's feeling guilty—his brows are tightly drawn together, his head hanging low when they escape from the loud masses and in the direction of a small, nearly empty park nearby. Keith feels a little sorry for him, too, yet can't help but drop down onto the first bench they come across, close his eyes and take a deep breath. It's calm, it's silent, and even though he's not entirely alone, he's immediately at ease.

"Sorry. Not used to this many people," he explains quietly and opens his eyes again, only to find that Lance is staring at him, pouting almost  _ aggressively _ .

"You could've said something earlier, you know? I—I mean I know I'm a handful, and sometimes too much to bear, and I don't want you to avoid me because of that in the future and—and—"

He's shaking, his lips trembling, nose scrunched and eyes watering—

Hell no. Please.

Keith knows that he's sometimes a little  _ too _ unemotional for his own good; it's a rarity for him to cry even when he feels like it, and the emotion he would consider himself most familiar with is probably  _ anger _ , if anything.

He's fine with that mental detachment most of the time, not too bothered if anyone cares about it or not, but this he can't let happen; no way will he allow himself to watch Lance turn into a crying mess over his inability to handle a crowd or two.

In the matter of seconds, Keith is on his feet, fingers digging tightly into Lance's shoulders, and holding him maybe just a little closer than necessary.

"No, Lance. Listen to me," Keith starts hopelessly, desperate to find the right words, but everything his mind seems to be able to come up with is generic, lame and in no kind of way helpful, even he knows that. "I didn't mean it like that."

"N-no, it's okay. I know I get unbearable, a-and I'm sorry about it, and—"

"Stop."

It's louder, angrier than he wants it to be, but he needs to make this clear—making Lance feel insecure about having so much fun is the literal last thing Keith wanted by tearing them away from the masses and taking a breath.

"I promise it's not you," he says way more calmly and wipes a tear from Lance's cheek carefully. It doesn't help much, because countless others follow, but the sentiment is still there, and Keith lets his hand linger on the warm, reddened cheek, cupping it as gently as he's able to, and giving a look as apologetic as he can manage.

"It's not?" Lance asks cautiously and swallows, his lips still trembling from heavy whines he's trying desperately to hold back. His eyes light back up a little, hope shining in them, and Keith nods without hesitation. If it weren't for a friend crying in his arms right now, he'd be fine with how they are, so he's positive that neither of the two of them is the problem here.

"I'm not so good with people," he explains carefully, finally pulling Lance into a proper embrace. It's a slightly foreign feeling, because Keith can't remember the last time he's initiated a hug with anyone, but it isn't unpleasant—on the contrary, the shared warmth between them allows him to think a little more clearly, and the warm breath brushing his cheek is nothing short of reassuring.

He's got this. These kinds of interactions are still scary and new, but he's nothing if not willing to learn, if it means to see Lance smile again.

"You s-say that, but I'm a lot w-worse, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm so blind!! I didn't notice you were uncomfortable all the time, or, well, I noticed you weren't as eager as me, but I didn't think it'd be that bad and that was super inconsiderate and rude and yeah I'm definitely the mean one here no matter what you say and I'm so sorry and I just got way too excited over a dumb movie and—"

"Lance."

He shuts up immediately and sighs, forehead resting against the tiny part of skin that's not hidden under the scarf that Keith is wearing. The touch makes him shiver in comfort.

"You know, the movie wasn't that bad," he argues and leads the conversation in a better direction. It's true, he was way more uncomfortable than he'd ever like to be, and if possible, he would prefer a timeout from all that stress, but that doesn't mean that he wants to let go.

He really, really doesn't want to let go.

"Weren't there like three more of those? You mentioned something when we were standing in line."

"Yeah, it's the fourth one, and they're all extremely amazing and—wait, stop, I'm at it again. I'm sorry."

Pulling Lance a little closer, Keith shakes his head, scrunching his nose when soft yet wild streaks of hair tickle it. He might not be incredibly outgoing or creative in this regard, but he thinks he's come up with a good idea.

"We could watch the rest of those in private, maybe? Less people, less noise, more comfort."

"Wait, what?"

It's Lance who lets go first and takes a step back, head slightly tilted and eyes wide with surprise. Apparently, he hasn't expected such a suggestion at all, and there's a mixture of what Keith figures could be wariness and interest sparkling in those hypnotizing blue eyes.

"What, what?" he asks groundbreakingly, not sure what it was that he said wrong. Again, social interactions are far from his strong suit.

"You're not sick of me yet?"

It seems like such a surprise to Lance that he's not, as he himself called it, too much for Keith to handle, and that thought is, in a way, heartbreaking. How have people treated him before if he thinks that being full of energy is something he will lose a friend over? How does he see himself when he's so insecure about being who he is?

"I already said that. What now, you want to or not?"

When he nods, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear, it seems like it brightens the whole night, his shine easily surpassing that of the street lamps barely illuminating the park they're in. For just this moment, they're both engulfed in complete silence and peace of mind, and right there, something changes.

Keith has never really made friends unless life basically forced him to.

With Lance, he feels like he can finally try.


	6. Christmas Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short as heck, I'm afraid. D':

There’s one thing Keith will admit he likes about Christmas, and that’s the countless types of colorful, bright decorations. He’s aware that people use this fact to crack jokes about him occasionally, and he supposes that it makes sense—he’s more of the reclusive, gloomy kind of person, so whenever he starts putting up red holiday lights in his otherwise comparably boring room, whoever is allowed to enter it makes at least one very bad joke about it. It’s a rule, it doesn’t ever not happen.

He’s still not entirely sure why he’s offered to watch a series of alien thriller movies with a person he should hardly even consider an acquaintance, but here he is, past the surprisingly simple introductions—entirely unsurprised that his parents don’t remember who Lance is—having guided the way to his room. And now he’s waiting, arms crossed in front of his chance defensively, ready to deflect any possible kind of insult or even just smirk from Lance; it feels like the thing he would do.

Except he doesn’t.

“You like Christmas lights?” he asks with a suspiciously polite smile on his lips, easing Keith’s mind a little. He hums slowly and nods towards the sofa in the corner of the room. Lance takes the offer, but doesn’t try to hide that he’s more interested in checking out the interior than actually sitting down yet.

It feels like the calm before the storm. Keith figures it’s best to slow it down before it comes crashing in.

“You’re not laughing.” It’s a statement rather than a question, although he intends to demand an answer to it. Seemingly surprised, Lance stops, right before sitting down, tilts his head and looks around the room, searching for whatever he’s supposed to laugh about.

“Did I miss a joke?” he asks, a hint of insecurity in his voice.

“You’re not laughing.”

“You said that, mister broken record.”

Keith is  _ still _ unsure what to make of this, and thus doesn’t say anything in return. When he doesn’t move for what’s apparently longer than socially acceptable, Lance finally shows mercy with him—or pity, maybe.

“Alright, Keith, we got this,” he starts dramatically, casts another look through the room, but ends up shaking his head. He really doesn’t get it.

“What am I supposed to laugh about here?”

“You’re not  _ supposed _ to laugh,” Keith corrects him and notices his own posture loosening a little. “It’s just that everyone else does.”

Groaning loudly, Lance drops onto the sofa, gesturing wildly. Keith doesn’t get it.

“Listen, mullet, you really gotta learn to explain what you’re talking about.”

He blinks once, keeps his eyes closed for a second and frowns.

“...Mullet?”

Instinctively, he reaches for his hair. Something tells him that the word is supposed to be some sort of friendly insult, but he doesn’t understand what exactly is wrong with his hair—for the most part, he’s quite okay with how it looks. Well, unless the bangs get too long.

“Dodging the topic here, Keithyboy. I still don’t get what you’re talking about.”

“I figured you’d laugh about me decorating.”

There, it’s out. Keith doesn’t know why he feels dumb for saying it out loud, but he does. The fact that Lance is laughing  _ now _ isn’t exactly helping.

“Took long enough.”

“No, no, Keith,  _ listen _ .”

He raises his arms and swings them around as a poor attempt at an apology, gets up and throws himself onto the bed this time. Under any other circumstances, Keith would immediately put a stop to that. If he weren’t still so surprised. If he weren’t busy trying to figure out what was going on. If it weren’t for Lance looking over to him, his laugh replaces with a genuine smile, the bright red lights dancing in his beautifully blue eyes, creating a gentle shade of blue that Keith loses himself in.

He wants to see it for however long he lives. He wants to fall asleep while staring into these eyes, wants them to be the first thing he sees in the morning, wants them to be there when everything else is too much to deal with.

The realization sends a strong wave of emotions through him, from awareness over denial to fear. He can’t feel like this. He  _ can’t _ . Not over a friend, not over a _stranger_.  


He can’t.

…

But he does.

“You still with me?”

Shaking his head to get it free, he notices that Lance looks worried by now. Keith nods shortly and sits on the edge of the bed, making sure to keep a polite amount of distance between them—judging from Lance’s attitude so far, he doesn’t need the extra privacy, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“I didn’t expect this,” Lance explains then, pointing at several of the christmas balls, then at the nightstand where Keith is aware is a snowglobe that he’s had for as long as he can remember.

“But I like it.”

That’s so,  _ so _ far from anything he’s expected, and it’s kind and genuine and Keith can’t help but smile at it. He’s never taken any of the jokes personally, for the record, but this is still different—his quirks being accepted even if they collide with the attitude he normally has, even if they don’t fit into his usual character traits.

“I’m surprised,” he admits, voice unintendedly soft, feeling a smile tug on the corner of his lips. “Glad, though.”

Lance smiles, too.

One by one, things start falling into place. 

They end up not watching a single movie, but they talk and laugh and share fond memories that Keith never considered he’d ever want to open up about towards anyone, since they’re, in a way, sacred. Special.

With his mind fully at ease, Keith realizes that maybe, all of this is special, too.


	7. Sweaters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't go the way I wanted it to, but I kinda don't mind! <3

For reasons unknown, Lance insists on seeing Keith  _ sometime around Christmas _ , and boy does he get annoying and petulant after getting a rejection. After his phone is blown up with chat messages, voice messages, memes, videos and calls, Keith first considers throwing it into a wall, and then settles with giving in, because stupid him invited Lance to his house before and there’s no doubt the ball of energy will make his way here if his chat indicators go from  _ delivered _ to  _ sent _ . One arrow can make all the difference here, really.

_ Fine. _

Keith wants to leave it at that, but adds something before Lance can get another message in.

_ On one condition. _

The answer comes promptly.

_ What condition?! Keith, don’t treat me like this, this isn’t a mission for dear life, it’s Christmas!! _

He holds back on replying with  _ that’s the worst part _ , instead settling for just getting it over with before tossing his phone away:

_ No presents. I wouldn’t know what do get for you, and if you get me one, I’ll lock you out of the house. Other than that, drop by whenever on the 24th, I guess. _

With that, he’s back to studying for his upcoming physics exam, not as much bummed out by the prospect of learning right before vacation as all of his friends seem to be—might as well get it over with and enjoy the holiday freely, right?

The 24th comes way too soon, in a way. Christmas is weird to Keith—he’s never understood why people are terrible to each other for 364 days a year only to play nice on one and load each other with overpriced presents. Luckily for him, his family isn’t like that. They do exchange presents, but it’s more about the thought of it, of coming up with something clever and wrapping it in nice paper to present under a decorated tree.

The tree might be Keith’s favorite part, actually. It’s full with Christmas lights—his doing, which he’s immensely proud of—and makes the living room feel welcoming and comfortable.

He gives his phone a look when it lights up, expecting a message from Pidge or Matt, but it’s three very obviously offended words coming from Lance.

_ Open the door!!! _

“Did you hear something?” he asks his parents, who both give him puzzled looks before shaking their heads in surprise. Judging from the way they frown, they’re worried about him because of the question, but he’s already typing away on the phone.

_ You didn’t even ring the bell? _

In a way, he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised.

_ Uh, d’uh! I rang your phone with my message now open the door Keith I swear I’m freezing it’s cold I’m dying if you don’t open up right now I’m gonna cry. _

A few more messages come in after that, but he drops his phone on the living room table, excuses himself from the conversation he’s mostly been listening to anyway, and heads for the front door. And yeah, sure thing, that’s Lance out there waiting, but Keith has only barely opened the door before he’s already in the process of closing it again.

“You really think I was playing, don’t you? I wasn’t.”

Lance manages to put his foot between the door and angle just in time, putting his whole weight into it and whining loudly.

_ “Keith _ how can you be so heartless?! Help! Mama Kogane, save me!”

“Stop  _ screaming _ . We had a rule and you broke it, deal with the consequences!”

“Did not break—”

“Did. I said no presents!”

“You said no presents from  _ me _ !”

Confused by the statement, Keith stops trying to push the door shut, causing Lance to fall into the hallway and almost trip over his own feet. There’s a long moment of silence, both of them panting from the fight and bickering, and then they both burst into laughter as if his were the most natural thing  _ ever _ for them.

“You’re  _ unbelievable _ ,” Keith insists, but can’t keep a stupid smile from his lips. His eyes jump from Lance’s grin to the small box he’s carrying. The ultimate betrayal—getting a present after agreeing not to.

“Look, if you  _ listened _ for one second…”

And he throws the box so that Keith immediately feels forced to catch it before it can hit the floor. He squints at it skeptically, then looks up at Lance who’s grinning from ear to ear, still a little out of breath, while struggling to take off his scarf. Keith watches him wordlessly, making sure to scowl and show his disappointment.

“Keith, are you—oh.”

He turns to face his mother, who has the smallest smirk on her lips and an eyebrow raised skeptically. Keith knows she’s still irritated by him having made a friend as different from himself as Lance, and honestly, it’s understandable. They’re like fire and ice, day and night, two opposites so stark that anyone in their sane mind would be at least a bit surprised.

“Your son is vicious, Mama Kogane,” Lance announces as if he’s been part of the family for twenty years or so, totally void of any kind of decent respect, and Keith cringes at it, but his mother doesn’t seem to mind.

“So I’ve heard,” she replies with amusement in her voice. “He’s also profoundly indifferent about Christmas celebrations. I’m quite surprised he let you in.”

“I’d like to make it clear that I didn’t let him in on purpose.”

She shakes her head and returns to the living room with a fond smile on her lips. Although she never says it out loud, Keith knows she’s glad that he’s become a bit more...outgoing, of sorts,  _ making friends _ , as people would call it, although it’s really only  _ one _ friend.

“Okay, grumpy,” Lance starts again happily after taking off his shoes and jacket, too, revealing one of those  _ ugly christmas sweaters _ , except it’s actually not at all ugly. Still, it’s somehow the last thing Keith ever expected to see on him. “You can’t not accept the gift because it’s not from me.”

“First of all, I can. Second...what’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Ugh, Keith.”

Lance throws his hands in the air dramatically and lets out a deep, disappointed, dragged sigh.

“It’s from my mama, of course!”

_ Of course _ .

It seems to surprise him that his words don’t cause a wave of understanding and realization to wash over Keith—instead, his eyes widen in shock and he stares at the small package in his hands with what he himself can only describe as  _ fear _ .

“Your...mom?”

“Yeah, I just said that.”

Lance smirks and Keith rolls his eyes. Why does this have to be complicated?

“Why?”

“Uh, because you’re my friend? Silly.”

Apparently, Lance seems to believe that those words explain everything, but they don’t. Keith stares at the present, not sure if he really wants to open it. Sure, it’s a nice gesture, but what reason has he ever given to Lance’s  _ mother _ to get a Christmas gift from her?

“She doesn’t even know me,” he insists and takes a step forward to finally hand it back. This isn’t right. He shouldn’t accept gifts from strangers, especially if he doesn’t have one in return. To emphasize his point, he holds the present out towards Lance, whose smile fades into a pout.

“Well, she knows you through me, and it’s enough for her,” he says quietly, crossing his arms before his chest to make it clear that he won’t let Keith refuse the gift. “If I come back home with this, she’ll cry. Do you want that?”

“What?! No!”

“Then stop whining and open it!”

“No!”

“Keith, you absolute  _ moron _ , open the goddamn thing or I will throw a fit!!”

They’re not really shouting, but it comes close, and it’s admittedly a bit annoying, especially in the middle of the hallway, so Keith decides to settle this in private, pulling Lance along to his room by the wrist.

_ Weirdest day ever _ , he decides, but in a way, he doesn’t even mind that. The neatly wrapped whatever-it-is lands on the bed quickly, and Keith decides to just drop down right next to it, head hitting the soft mattress and his eyes falling shut immediately. What was he thinking when he accepted Lance’s plea to see each other, anyway? He should’ve known it would get awkward.

“I swear you do not make sense, Keithyboy.”

“Right back at you.”

Lance sits down next to him, legs crossed, chin resting on his hands. Judging by his expression, he’s fifty percent honestly offended, and fifty percent immensely amused. It makes Keith feel a mixture of insecurity and comfortableness, putting him at ease while he’s also on alert.

“You gonna do it soon?” Lance asks after less than thirty seconds of silence, a grin now forming on his lips. Keith rolls his eyes before sitting up.

“God,  _ fine. _ ”

He picks the present up again, turns it in his hands and squints. It’s relatively light, and it seems to be in some sort of box. Honestly, he doesn’t want it, because literally anything Lance’s mother could have gotten for him will definitely be too much, but Keith decides to get over with it anyway and starts working on the ribbon. To get some revenge, he makes it painfully slow, and smiles self-indulgently when Lance’s eyebrows furrow at it.  _ Of course _ he’s impatient.

The box is plain red and neutral. Could be anything in there, yet Keith can’t help but appreciate the sentiment of it being his favorite color; it shouldn’t mean much, but it does, in a way.

“December 2067,” Lance suddenly says in an unnaturally deep, narrator-kind of voice. “Keith Kogane is still busy staring at the box as if it holds the secrets to eternal life. Will he ever find out what’s inside it? Stay tuned to find out. Don’t forget to subscribe and support via patreon.”

“Aren’t you hilarious.”

“I’m a legend and you know it.”

Keith scoffs and ignores the fact that his mind urges him to reply with something fond, because just like the last time they sat here, the warm red lights from his decorations shine in Lance’s hypnotizing eyes. Unsurprisingly, this realization does the trick and makes Keith finally open the box, just so he can aggressively ignore how deeply gone he is for the pretty stranger right next to him.

He squints, raises an eyebrow and chuckles, but it doesn’t hide the blush warming up his cheeks. In his defense, he isn’t used to presents, because he doesn’t like them. He’s especially unused to handmade presents, other than from his parents, because they’re time-consuming to make and usually force you to know the person you’re making them for well.

“This, what—Why? I mean, just...she shouldn’t have.”

And because he knows that it’s a little rude to dismiss a gift like that.

“I...thanks, I guess?”

“Tell her that when you meet!”

_ Meet. _

The word shouldn’t have that much meaning. After all, what he finds in the box is a sweater that suspiciously mirrors Lance’s—both grey with small space shuttles all over them, just that Lance’s ornaments are blue and Keith’s are red.

“Is this a tradition?” he asks curiously, not hesitating to put the comfortable piece of clothing on. It’s a pretty good fit, a little large maybe, but that only makes it better, somehow.

“Kinda. Close friends get some, because mama considers them part of the family.”

“Close?”

It’s not like he minds the term, but it’s still a little surprising. Is that what they are? Close? They barely even know each other, after all.

“Ouch, Keith, shots fired, offense taken, RIP Lance McClain.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Lance is laughing already, so it’s okay. And then he moves closer, leans their shoulders together and pulls out his phone to take a selfie of them—or roughly two-hundred, because he claims that neither of them are good enough, and he complains that Keith doesn’t smile and he struggles with deciding on if he wants flashlight or not and they bicker and banter and have more fun than Keith has ever had on any boring Christmas eve in his whole life.

Eventually, the picture that gets the  _ Lance McClain seal of approval _ , which means it’s being sent to a group chat that he creates right there and adds both their closest friends to, is the one he takes when they’re too out of breath to argue and too exhausted to pull dumb faces and too comfortable to do anything but smile into the camera as if nothing in the world could ever be bad.

By the time their friends start sending messages and pictures, too, they’ve forgotten about the phone in favor of sharing family stories, wrapped tightly in a big blanket, both without a care in the world.


End file.
